To Heaven We Shall Fall
by Zaphrier
Summary: He would not be deemed a failure, at least not one that would lose his nerve. If he was to be a failure, he wanted it to be because he died, not because he ran in fear of something he'd known was going to happen right from the start.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Tales of Symphonia or these characters. I do, however, have power over my characters Actaeon, Artemis, and Apollo and any other non-canon, developed characters you may see roaming around.**

**A/N: Okay, this is my first FanFiction in a while and the first one I've done for this particular game. The idea's been bothering me for quite some time, as has the character, so I decided to try the idea out and give it a shot. If you see any problems, you need to tell me. I haven't played the game in a while (about two years) and my 'in-detail' knowledge is limited to videos on Youtube because I don't feel like searching through millions of memory cards to find my Tales of Symphonia files. **

**That aside, I hope you enjoy this as it may not be my best piece, but I like it quite a lot. **

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**To Heaven We Shall Fall**

**Prologue : Recievable**

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"My dear, beloved son, Actaeon," The angel hovering just above their heads began, a feeling of dread welling up inside the green-eyed individual as he gazed up at what was supposed to be an angel, but, at this point, he was beginning to doubt that. "Step fourth," The blond angel spoke once more, "And begin your ascension unto the heavens."

The dark-haired young man did just that, but not without a moment of hesitation. He knew this man was not his father, as that was obvious from just gazing up at the male; the physical differences between the two of them were obvious, to say the least. This man-- no, this _angel_-- had mistaken him for a fool, and though he was no fool, he was the Chosen One and all eyes were turned to him with the hopes of the world being saved from the attacks of the Desians; they all hoped that Actaeon would be the one to make the difference after so many others had failed. They all believed it was he who would bring back the mana to this world, and that was why he stepped onto the circular formation before the one named Remiel.

He did so in spite of the duo behind him that attempted to persuade him to turn back; to come back home with them. However, if he turned and ran now, looking the civilians of Tethe'alla in the eyes would no longer be possible. He would not be deemed a failure, at least not one that would lose his nerve. If he was to be a failure, he wanted it to be because he died, not because he ran in fear of something he'd known was going to happen.

"Actaeon!" His female companion yelled causing the male to look back over his shoulder, green eyes catching brown as his wings appeared. "Please, Actaeon!" She tried once more as he turned back to gaze at what now looked more like a demon to him. His friends had lost their nerve, but he had not lost his own; he couldn't reassure them. He turned back towards the duo as the two on-lookers stared up at him, as if they were seeing the most tragic thing they'd ever seen. For a moment, he opened his mouth to speak and his mouth moved, absent only of the words that _should've_ slipped from his lips. Remembering the state he was in, he closed his mouth as the atmosphere grew darker and chose to do something simpler. A smile spread across the black-haired male's face as green eyes narrowed in admiration, respect, and a sort of affection that was hidden to the untrained eye.

In those last few moments, only a few things registered, the first being the fact that his companions had both yelled something, yet their mouths moved silently. He could feel his smile being forced into that of a neutral line and blinked once before his attention turned back to his two friends, his companions, as he felt himself fading away from the body he had offered up to Martel.

Actaeon was sure there was more yelling done, but he heard none of it and barely managed to see it, but he knew all too well that the siblings were yelling about him. In a sense, he felt honored, but he also felt they were wasting their time; they had a mother to get back to, after all. However, in that last minute that he was able to see, he watched in dismay as Remiel descended from his spot next to him and struck down the duo with a strange stoic nature that he had previously been devoid of.

Perhaps, Actaeon noted as he finally lost consciousness, he had done it the wrong way. His friends were dead now, killed by an angel that had strung the three of them up; the one that had been the puppeteer throughout ever last act in the play. However, it was too late for him to ponder such things.

He'd already made the mistake.

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Green eyes cracked open, gazing at the scenery around him that even he would regard as disturbing. He was in a very familiar place, but the atmosphere was most obviously different. From his spot on the floor, he stared upwards, towards the top of the tower that escaped even his angelic senses.

It was then that his eyes shot open in realization as he flung himself forward with a yell, "Art—" He paused, a result of shocking even himself, and allowed his hand to come up to touch his lips; previously, he had been incapable of speech. He wanted desperately to question what in Martel's name was happening, but he turned his attention instead to something more important: the spot where his two friends had died.

No one stood in that spot, nor was there a single person that lay there in a pool of their own blood. Where had they disappeared to? Where had _he _disappeared to? He was not dead, yet he was positive he had died; he had given up those two remaining factors of his human existence, which, sadly, happened to be both his heart and his memories.

He stood as his heartbeat calmed, no longer threatening him with a heart attack, and looked around at the empty tower. Here, there was no Artemis, there was no Apollo, and even Remiel escaped his line of sight.

Perhaps he _had_ died and he simply didn't _feel_ dead.

No, he thought. He was not dead; he was not dreaming; and he was _not_ going crazy. He knew himself too well to be thinking such things, and he had no intention of doubting himself. He had full confidence in his decisions, and in his opinions and beliefs, but it was so much harder now. Previously, he had had the support of his two best friends and his only companions, but now that they were gone and he was alone, he felt much weaker than before.

He stepped down the stairs, moving towards where his friends had been killed. His vision had been real, that he was sure of, but where had the bodies gone? Where had the blood gone? Dumping bodies and cleaning up the mess was no easy feat for someone who was alone like Remiel had been, so where had all the evidence disappeared to? If he'd had but an ounce of it, he could go back to his home and tell everyone the tale of the treacherous Cruxis who had done no more than trick the good people of Tethe'alla into believing all that mumbo jumbo about the angels and Martel, a goddess that he himself had believed in until this trip.

Actaeon, however, doubted anyone in Ozette would believe him, and everyone else would be just as skeptical. Having visited just about every town on the map, it would be near impossible to go around without people viewing him as the Chosen One who failed to save the world from the wrath of the Desians and the destruction of the loss of mana.

Actaeon continued on his way, more like a mindless zombie than a human being who had just managed to escape from Death himself. Few managed to knock on Death's door without being his next victim; he was exceedingly lucky. However, in the dark-haired male's state, he would disagree.

Anyone who had escaped death after bearing witness to his friends' would merely wish for death to come. New friends could be made and new ties could be formed, but the bond he had shared with those two had been much different, especially when compared to the average friends who bore no strong ties. He would've died in the place of those two, had he had the slightest control of his body. Had he lived because he'd not offered a suitable body to the Goddess Martel, or was it that they had misplaced him before they could manage that?

He didn't know the answer and finding that answer was not on his to-do list, so he moved towards the door of the tower, ready to open it and take a look around. He was curious as to what had happened; he wanted to know what, exactly, was going on, and why. He needed to know what was going on, and he wanted to know what Cruxis's plans really were.

Obviously, no good would come from Cruxis, or the so-called Goddess, Martel.

He stepped out into the open air, just beyond the confines of the Tower of Salvation and before him he found a world unlike that of Tethe'alla. It didn't differ greatly, but the differences in the geography were obvious. There were no mountains towering overhead and the skies to his left and right were visible. Before, there had been carpeted walls all around him, hidden under layers of thick grass.

Where in Tethe'alla was he? No, he was no longer in Tethe'alla; the Tower of Salvation did not move about without restraint, as it was impossible for buildings to move. Then again, it _did _disappear with the comings and goings of other Chosen, but he still doubted it had moved. But if he was not in Tethe'alla, where was he?

There was no sign of life around him, except for the occasional monster that he managed to spot, though they were at a safe distance. For the time being, he didn't have to fret over such trivial things. What he did have to fret about, however, was the absence of the stairs that had once allowed him and his companions to climb to the level of the tower's entrance. His brows furrowed, wondering how long it had been since he ascended.

"Could it have possibly been that long?" He questioned himself, black hair obscuring his vision as a gaze of wind blew past, but he pushed his hair into its original, proper position. He stepped forward and watched as the stairs came into being once more. If he hadn't been saddened by the loss of his friends, he would've smiled victoriously at what appeared to be a win on his part.

He shook his head as he descended, moving down the stairs at a speed that was a crawl compared to the speed he usually walked with. The pace was slow, a result of what seemed to be shaping into a minor bout of depression.

Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, he froze and his eyes moved to look upward; he stood gazing at the clear blue sky for a few moments and it was in these few moments that he felt something wet on his cheeks. For a moment, he didn't recognize the feeling, and it wasn't until he pulled his hand up to his face and removed some of the substance to inspect it that he realized what as happening; he was crying. It had been so long since he'd had the _ability_ to cry that he'd forgotten anyone could do it. Hell, the word had been erased from his mind.

It wasn't long before a high-pitched whine escaped his throat as his knees buckled beneath him. He landed on his knees, collapsing forward only to be caught by his hands, which pressed against the ground in an attempt to keep him from fully falling, though that was quickly becoming a _failed_ attempt.

Green eyes looked up, scanning the area around him to make sure no monsters were charging him as he let out a heart-wrenching sob. It was this sob that caused several eyes to turn towards him, much to his dismay. For a moment, he contemplated running at the fastest speed his legs would take him, but then he recalled that the hill-like structures surrounding the Tower of Salvation would be a little more than difficult to scale. So what choice did he have other than to fight?

As he started to push himself back up onto his feet, he stopped for a moment, tears still running freely down his cheeks as he did so. What was the point in forcing himself to go on?

His friends had both died; they'd fallen into pools of their own blood and laid there. He doubted the world needed him anymore, even if the Cruxis Crystal was still fit snuggly around his neck. But even so, those two would wring his neck if he died just because of that. They would criticize him on having given up, and probably would stop acknowledging his existence.

Dying in vain, apparently, was not on the agenda for today.

Actaeon gazed up at the beast that crept towards him. The other monsters seemed to clear a path for the tiger-like monstrosity as it shimmied its way over to him. His determination was tenacious in its own right, as it seemed thinking of his two friends had left him with a portion of their will that so strongly resembled fire itself.

His left hand came up to wrap around the sheath of his sword as his right came up to take the hilt into hand. With a single swipe of his sword, the blade was removed from its prison, and words spilled from the Chosen's lips, "You're quite the monster." A smile came to the young man's face as he advanced a step before continuing, "I can't say I've made contact with something such as yourself."

The beast roared, as if it were agreeing with him on the note of its uniqueness. "Hm… So you agree?" Actaeon questioned, watching as it smiled, showing off a set of bloodstained teeth that spoke wonders about its diet. It didn't surprise him, as all carnivorous monsters had to eat _something_. It wasn't as if they—the humans—could deny them the right to leave; they could defend themselves, but stealing away their food would not be just.

The beast before him seemed more intelligent than your average monster, as it seemed to understand most, if not all, of what he said. The smile on the features of the tiger told him so.

If he—she?—wasn't obviously a wild animal, he would've considered taking the animal on as a companion, not that it would've replaced Artemis or Apollo, his deceased companions. Those two had been something else.

It was in that moment that the tiger charged him, taking advantage of Actaeon plunging himself into a reverie. He watched in a bored fashion as its large paws kicked up dirt and left much of the ground unprotected, until she leapt, her jaw clasping around the sword of the young Chosen One. For a moment, it remained like this—Actaeon's sword caught in the jaws of a beast; the beast threatened by the blade of his sword.

"You're quick to judge…" Actaeon muttered, a frown appearing on his face as he separated the oversized cat from his sword, practically throwing the beast off him with an almost clandestine force. However, his smile reappeared as he continued, "Well, even so…"

The beast landed on its feet, just as Actaeon would've expected from something that seemed to be much like a cat, only obviously enlarged. The young man nodded in mock approval and let out a chuckle, "That's quite the impression you've left me with." His words were practically doused in sarcasm. He couldn't believe he was speaking to a wild animal as if it would respond, and, half of the time, it was done without the slightest bit of sarcasm; a good bit of the time, he was being serious.

He shook the thought from his head as the tiger once again came at him, leaping in the same manner he had not long before. However, this time he was unlucky; he had Actaeon's full attention.

The Chosen's blade swept upward in an almost instinctive manner, creating a large gash on the beast's chest. A loud roar escaped it and many other monsters turned to stare they were quick to turn their heads and pretend to ignore the defeat of the oversized tiger. In fact, it appeared as if they were making a path for Actaeon to walk—a path free of the obstacles that monsters tended to be.

The beast heaving away in pain before him did not affect him in the slightest and he moved around it without so little as a glance at its form. Unlike others, he did not pity his enemies, even if those enemies had once been his friends, though he had not had to fight friends too often.

He trudged on, careful as he tended to his bloodied sword and even more cautious as he reached the passage of monsters, though none indulged in attacking him. The walkway set off a few alarms in Actaeon's mind, but it didn't hinder him in the slightest and he continued walking, though most would've thought of him as an idiot as a result.

Contrary to his original idea that one of the monsters would take their chance and jump him, they left him alone. It was quite a shocker to him, but he felt it was better than it actually happening; he'd rather not have to attempt to fight off a horde of monsters. Whether he succeeded or not was another matter entirely, he would still have to partake in beating at least a few down. If he didn't, he might as well go off and wallow in his own shame, as there was no glory in running, nor did he find it to be intelligent on any occasion.

He walked along the grass that happened to be his only guide, as there was no road that addressed the Tower of Salvation. It was something that came and went as it pleased; it wouldn't be on a regular map.

He treaded along without fail, eyeing anomalies as the scenery crawled past. The monsters were similar, but there were also foreign to him; plants and flowers looked to be in relation to ones he was well aware of, but he had no experience in genetics; and the few people that passed him wore clothes he wasn't accustomed to.

A nice gentleman had, in passing, greeted him. It had left Actaeon thankful; they still spoke the language he understood. The only other language he knew was the tongue of the angels, and he doubted a dead language would suffice in any world that was not angelic, and these people didn't look even remotely angelic.

Once Actaeon had learned that they spoke in the same language he did, he had resigned himself to greeting any others who passed by, and asking them innocent questions as to better understand this world that he had fallen into. When it came down to the questions that should have obvious answers, most of those who spoke to brushed it off either as him being a curious, sheltered foreigner, or an amnesiac. The latter, Actaeon thought, was rather ridiculous, but that was likely not the opinions of those who thought so.

It had been these folks who, again, in passing, helped him find his way through giving him directions. The nearest town was one called Luin; that would give him a place to stop and rest until further notice.

His first priority was to find out the bare basics of this world, and his second was to find out where he was. He needed to find out what their currency here was. It would be better if he found a map of the area somewhere so he could navigate his way around this place. He could probably draw one up himself, but that would require at least minimal knowledge of the world around him and he was absent of even that.

He had questions and he needed answers.

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**A/N: I trust you guys held some level of interest if you've read thus far? It's a slow start and I'm debating whether or not Actaeon's (crappy) excursion with that tiger will have any future influence. I haven't been writing much action lately, so a point of writing this is to get back in the swing of writing action after dealing wtih romance for a good, long while. I don't remember a lot of the monsters in ToS, so a good bit of them will be ones inspired by the ones from Tales of Vesperia-- the one I've been playing-- and Tales of the Abyss-- the one I can only watch. Just bear with me and drop me a line or two in a review; tell me what you did and didn't like-- that sort of thing. **


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